


Build Your Wings On the Way Down

by enigmaticblue



Series: Rebuilding from the Ashes [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: trope_bingo, Gen, Trope Bingo Round 4, Wingfic, sort of wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wilson isn’t unfamiliar with leaps of faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build Your Wings On the Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the trope_bingo prompt “wingfic”. For the record, a PJ is another term for pararescuemen. Many thanks to my beta, thomasina75, for giving me this idea, and pointing out the weak spots.

_“If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business, because we’d be cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.”_ ~Ray Bradbury

 

On the face of it, the EXO-Falcon should elicit an automatic denial. Sam is a PJ, not a test pilot, but the promise of the suit is the ability to get into places no one would dare to go.

 

Riley, of course, agrees right away. “Where do I sign up?”

 

There’s no way Sam is going to let his wingman go into this alone. “Yeah, me too,” he says, feeling a grin breaking out over his face. “Hey, it’s wings!”

 

Riley laughs and claps Sam on the shoulder. “You and me, bro. We’re going to rock this.”

 

Sam had survived the Pipeline, but the training for the EXO-Falcon is something else. There are agility tests and more strength training, and a hell of a lot of simulations. No one wants to lose a PJ to an experimental test run; they’re too valuable, and too highly trained for that.

 

He and Riley take the training together, like they’ve done since they’d been sorted into pararescue, working side-by-side.

 

“Oh, man, I just want to get in the air,” Riley complains one night in the bunk they’re sharing during training.

 

Sam laughs. “Always impatient.”

 

“Hey, don’t tell me you don’t want a chance to spread your wings,” Riley counters, then cracks up.

 

“If you make a reference to ‘The Wind Beneath My Wings,’ I will hurt you,” Sam warns.

 

Riley’s howls of laughter are the only response, and Sam’s quiet chuckles are lost in the general noise.

 

When the moment of truth comes, they’re as sure as they’re going to get that the wings will work. The problem is that they’re going to have to deploy from a fairly significant height. He and Riley have suited up, and they’re looking at a drop from 10,000 feet out of a plane with a couple of other PJs who probably won’t be able to do a damn bit of good if the wings don’t work.

 

“You ready, bro?” Riley asks, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.

 

“No time like the present to break our necks,” Sam replies.

 

Riley jumps first, with Sam just a few seconds behind him, and Marks and Wu on his heels. The wings snap out, and they work just like in training, only this time it feels different.

 

He’s _flying_.

 

There’s no other word for it. The wings slow his descent, giving him control, and he follows Riley, only a few yards apart, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

 

To Sam, it feels like freedom, like joy, like _life_ —like there was a piece of him missing until now that just got filled.

 

The control is incredible, and he hits the ground running in one of the easiest landings he’s had since he took this gig. Riley is waiting for him, whooping as Sam lands. With a motion, the wings snap back into the suit, and Sam pulls the goggles off. He can’t help yelling for pure joy as he and Riley pound each other on the back.

 

“Is this the best job in the world or what?” Riley asks.

 

Sam can’t help but agree.

 

~~~~~

 

When Riley dies, the heart goes right out of Sam for a while. Riley had been his wingman, and flying isn’t the same without Riley by his side. He misses Riley like he’d miss an arm.

 

The nightmares start up almost immediately after Riley’s death, and he wakes up gasping for breath, Riley’s name on his lips. Nearly every night, the scene replays in his head—he and Riley flying side by side, a stray bullet finding Riley’s chest, the loss of control, Sam trying to grab him and failing.

 

Sam lands amid a hail of bullets, grabbing the back of Riley’s suit, dragging him under cover, calling urgently for backup, feeling completely helpless as he can’t save Riley, or the people they’d been sent to rescue.

 

He’s certain that his body is going to be laid out next to Riley’s before it’s all over, but rescue comes just in time.

 

But he always wakes up before his rescuers arrive. In sleep, there is no last minute save, there’s only his dead friend, and bullets, and the knowledge that he’s going to die.

 

His CO calls him in a month after Riley’s death. “Have a seat, Wilson,” Colonel Banks says, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I know you’ve had a hard time lately.”

 

“I’m alright,” Sam replies, although he knows it’s a lie.

 

Colonel Banks sighs. “Wilson, do you know how many men I’ve had under my command in the last 18 years?”

 

“I have no idea, sir,” Sam replies, his palms beginning to sweat.

 

“Enough to recognize when one of them is in trouble,” Banks replies. “From where I’m standing, you have two choices: you can take a reassignment, get your head back on straight, and come back to the battlefield ready to go, or you can take an early out.”

 

Sam swallows hard. “Sir—”

 

“You’ve got leave to burn, Wilson, and only six months left on your contract. Do you want to stay in? Because I’ll do everything in my power to keep you if that’s the case, but I need to know.”

 

Sam doesn’t know who he is if he’s not a PJ, if he’s no longer in the service. He can’t conceive of a life outside of the military, but he can’t see one where he’s still in without Riley.

 

“I don’t know,” he finally says.

 

“You and Riley were as close as brothers,” Banks says softly. “There’s no shame in throwing in the towel now, Wilson. It doesn’t mean your life loses meaning.”

 

Leaving would mean a leap of faith, trusting that he’ll find something else to do that will hold meaning. Leaving also means giving up his wings, and the very idea is a wrench.

 

“Sir…” Sam begins, and then stops.

 

“Take the next couple of days and think about it,” Banks orders. “Let me know your decision, and if you want to stay in, what it’s going to take to keep you in good shape.”

 

Sam does think about it, but when he visualizes flying again without Riley—his mind just stutters to a halt. Two days later, he’s in Banks’ office, and he says, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I can keep doing this. The nightmares, and…” He trails off, not wanting to let on how bad it is.

 

Banks smiles sadly. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, but I understand. I’ve got a friend in D.C. who can give you a hand, help you get settled.”

 

Sam nods. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“No, thank _you_ ,” Banks says, shaking Sam’s hand. “It’s been an honor.”

 

It doesn’t make him feel any better, but it does give him hope. Banks might just be right about landing on his feet.

 

~~~~~

 

Sam starts going to the group meetings at the VA long before he’s processed out. He’s in better shape than a lot of the men and women in there, many of whom are operating under severe stress. Some are homeless, some completely disabled. Some of them don’t leave the house except to go to group, and it’s the only time they feel connected to other human beings.

 

He doesn’t say much about his own struggles, because they feel petty in comparison. He’s going to school on the GI Bill, finishing up his degree, and contemplating his next steps. The nightmares are bad, but physically he’s in good shape, and he knows that mentally, things could be a lot worse.

 

When he finally does start speaking up in group, it’s to reach out to others, to offer encouragement, to validate feelings, or to simply say, “Things are gonna get better. It might not seem like that right now, but they will.”

 

After one of those sessions, when he’s close to finishing his degree—in political science, which doesn’t interest him at all these days, and he had no idea what he’s going to do with it—one of the counselors pulls him aside.

 

“Look, Wilson, have you thought about training to be a peer support counselor?” Mary asks. “You’d be good at it.”

 

Sam blinks at her blunt assessment, mostly because Mary doesn’t offer compliments often. “Not really. The group is more for me, you know?”

 

“You haven’t been using the group,” she replies frankly. “You rarely talk about yourself, unless you’re trying to make someone else feel better. People fucking _respond_ to you, Wilson.”

 

He has no idea what to say to that. “Okay?”

 

“A lot of counselors we get in here don’t work out. They don’t know how to reach people, how to draw them out, or the vets think they’re full of shit because they didn’t go through the same hell they did,” Mary says, a little of the Marine in her coming out. “You’ve got balance, street cred, and the personality to really make a difference. Think about it.”

 

“My degree is in poli-sci!” Sam calls after her.

 

“So fucking change it,” Mary replies as she’s walking off, not looking back. “Go get your masters in social work or what the fuck ever. Just think about it.”

 

Sam thinks it’s probably the height of folly, or even narcissism, to think he has anything to say to other vets, since a lot of them are struggling under much greater burdens than he is. Physically, he’s mostly whole, and mentally, he’s pretty much the same guy he’s always been. Sure, things are a little rocky emotionally, but with therapy the nightmares are down to a couple of nights a month, and he’s doing well.

 

What gives him the right to think he can help other vets?

 

And then he hears Riley’s voice in his head. “Come on, Wilson, don’t wuss out on me now. If you can help just one person, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

 

So, Sam starts looking into what it would take to switch his major, or failing that, to get into a graduate program.

 

It’s another leap of faith, to think that he could help, but he’s used to that by now.

 

~~~~~

 

Sam doesn’t think much about it the first time he hears, “On your left.” The second time he hears it, he’s a little irritated and starts pushing harder. By the third, “on your left,” Sam starts to realize that the guy lapping him isn’t an ordinary jogger.

 

Sam is sitting under a tree, recovering, when Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America, jogs up to him. He hadn’t expected Rogers to be so friendly, and really hadn’t expected to see him again.

 

He’s been working with vets long enough to recognize that haunted look that Rogers manages to hide fairly well.

 

When Rogers visits the hospital, stopping in for the tail end of one of Sam’s groups, he takes the chance to get through to the man—the _man_ , not the legend. Belatedly, Sam realizes that Rogers’ generation of soldiers hadn’t even known about PTSD. They’d called it shell-shock, and there hadn’t been treatment.

 

Therapy, drugs, all of that, has undergone a revolution in the last 70 years, and what Rogers is feeling—well, he might not know help exists.

 

“What makes you happy?” Sam asks, and it breaks his heart a little when Rogers replies, “I don’t know.”

 

“I didn’t know much when I got out,” Sam admits. “I kind of fell into this gig. Started going to meetings, talking to people, and figured out that what I wanted most was to _help_. That’s what I did as a PJ, rescue injured soldiers. Now, I’m doing the same thing, but in a different way.”

 

Rogers looks away. “I’m not sure what that looks like yet.”

 

“So, give it time,” Sam replies. “Give it some thought. Figure out what makes you _you_. You’ll get there, and if you ever want to talk to somebody, or you need help, you know where to find me.”

 

Sam isn’t expecting Rogers to take him up on the offer, and he certainly isn’t expecting Rogers to show up on his doorstep a wanted man, with that gorgeous redhead at his side.

 

Sam never thought he’d strap on his wings again, and he’s only just met Rogers. He has no reason to put his life on the line for a man he just met.

 

It’s another leap of faith, but Sam is getting pretty good at those.

 

And it turns out that his faith is warranted. They save the world and each other, and even if Rogers winds up in the hospital, he’s going to pull through.

 

“Sorry about your wings,” Rogers says as Marvin Gaye plays in the background. “I’ll make sure you get them back.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Sam replies. “I’m just glad the good guys won this one.”

 

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Rogers says.

 

Granted, Sam offers to help find Rogers’ friend, but he figures that’s the end of it. He never expects to have a flight suit built by Tony Stark, nor does he expect to become part of the Avengers.

 

~~~~~

 

“Thanks for coming,” Banner says, shaking Sam’s hand. “We’re still hoping the Other Guy isn’t needed, but until we know for sure, I’m apparently coordinating things.”

 

Sam raises his eyebrows, checking the clip in the icer that has been provided. “No offense, doc, but that’s not what I expected.”

 

“We’re _really_ hoping the Other Guy doesn’t need to be involved,” Banner says with a wry grin. “It’s mostly your homegrown mad scientist/terrorist with a bunch of powered-up goons. Unleashing the Other Guy means a loss of life when we’d really just prefer to take them into custody. Finding out who supplied the hardware is a priority.”

 

“Makes sense,” Sam says cheerfully, accepting the com link that Bruce holds out. “Just tell me where to go, doc.”

 

Banner’s warm smile is all the reward Sam needs. Tony Stark might play godfather to the Avengers, but Sam knows that Banner, in some ways, is the one who holds the reins. Stark is devoted to the idea of the Avengers, but Banner is devoted to _Stark_ first and everyone else second.

 

But then, that might make him the logical coordinator if he doesn’t have to transform. And Sam has been around the Avengers enough to know that if Banner doesn’t transform, he’s the one to patch people up.

 

It’s not like before, when they had all of SHIELD at their disposal—not that Sam has any real idea of what it was like before the collapse of SHIELD. At least, he doesn’t know what it was like to be an Avenger, although he’s fairly certain the team hadn’t been all that close.

 

“Tony’s going to give you a lift,” Banner replies, and Iron Man lands beside him with a clunk. “Speak of the devil.”

 

“Oh, sure,” Tony says. “Kick a man when he’s down.”

 

“You’re hardly down,” Bruce replies, amused. “Go on, get going. You have bad guys to take out.”

 

“Stay chill, Banner,” Stark says. “See you in a bit.”

 

Stark puts an arm around Sam’s waist. “Hang on tight, Birdman.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes, knowing that Stark can’t see it with his goggles on. He’s wearing the tac suit that’s a match to Barton and Romanoff’s, and the flight suit that Stark had built him. Stark deposits him on the roof of one of the taller buildings in the area.

 

“We’ve got some goons incoming,” Barton says over the coms. “Wilson, we could use you.”

 

“On it!” Sam calls, launching himself off the roof.

 

The goons are mostly on the ground, but there are a few with jet packs that aren’t nearly as state-of-the-art as Stark’s work. Sam shoots a couple of them out of the air, and takes out another couple on the ground before he lands to take out another couple.

 

He pauses to reload and sees Steve running toward him. “Duck!”

 

Sam drops, and the shield hits the bad guy sneaking up behind him. “Thanks, man.”

 

“Got your back, Falcon,” Steve says with a grin.

 

The clean up goes fairly quickly after that. Barton and Romanoff take out their share of the bad guys, and Stark gets the mad scientist. Nobody has a scratch on them, and the bad guy’s equipment is collected and tagged for removal to Stark Tower for Stark and Banner to review.

 

“Hey, you guys want to get a drink?” Barton asks when the cleanup is done.

 

“I could go for food,” Steve says hopefully.

 

Stark flips up his faceplate. “Yeah, I could definitely eat.”

 

Banner’s voice comes clearly over the coms. “Delivery for Stark Tower coming up. What does everybody want on their pizza?”

 

Sam doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t really care; he’ll eat just about anything. Barton wants meat, Romanoff wants veggies, Steve doesn’t care, and Stark just wants to make sure it’s New York-style.

 

“That’s one veggie pizza, one cheese, one all-meat, and a specialty,” Banner says amused. “So, pretty much the usual.”

 

Sam laughs. “Is that the usual, doc?”

 

“Unless Thor is here, and then there’s one more of each,” Banner replies. “Good work today, everybody.”

 

And maybe it had taken a few leaps of faith to get here, but Sam wouldn’t change a thing.


End file.
